There you are in the comfort of a nice clean public restroom. Not a care in the world-until someone occupies the stall next to you. Then your plumbing shuts down. Shy bladder is the diagnosis with a long road of high-voltage shock therapy ahead. Consider yourself lucky-public restrooms weren't always so pleasant.

Take your average Roman city with many a toga-wearing Roman wandering the streets. When nature called, they'd quickly search for a large urinal pot stationed on street corners. These folks were true conservationists as a fuller would periodically empty the pots, using the content for laundering and bleaching togas, tunics, and other clothing (Is that what goes into All Temperature Cheer?). Large rectangular rooms were available (for those who paid Caesar his due) for matters requiring more time and concentration. Able to handle up to 100, these hubs of activity offered stylish long stone benches, each with a row of ergonomic keyhole-shaped openings. No need to flush as water running down drains underneath would float contributions away to the sewers. No Charmin - no problem. Sponge-sticks were used and conveniently kept moist in water troughs. Kind of makes you think about cleaning your windshield at the local convenience store.

Conversations were very friendly and leisurely - normally dealing with daily activities. Here's a classic example:

So, count your blessings. You truly are privileged to have a stall all your own with a clean seat and fresh toilet paper. What, the toilet paper is all gone? Heck, next time just bring a sponge.